I’ve been chasing the perfect retro handheld, but all I ever play is setup and configuration.
A few years ago, my brother-in-law introduced me to the Anbernic RG351V. This cool retro gaming device, clearly inspired by the classic Game Boy, seemed like a dream come true. With its nostalgic design, albeit upgraded with an analogue stick and triggers on the back, it was a modern gateway to gaming’s golden eras. And once loaded with RetroArch, it could effortlessly handle playing video games up to the Nintendo 64 and PlayStation generations.
Naturally, I was smitten. Within an hour of seeing it, I’d placed my order and waited patiently for the next fortnight, tracking its progress from Anbernic’s facility in China to my doorstep in Toronto. When it finally arrived, I spent a happy afternoon setting it up: installing software, organizing SD cards, and tweaking emulation settings. I transformed the device into the”ULTIMATE RETRO GAMING MACHINE”.
Yet, when it came to actually playing retro games, I dabbled here and there to test its limits but never completed that long-desired play-through of Chrono Trigger. In truth, I barely scratched the surface.
One of the reasons was that I bought a Steam Deck.
I’d been tempted by the Steam Deck for months, spurred on by a glowing testimony from Thumbsticks contributor Josh Wise. When Valve released the OLED model, I caved. It wasn’t just the expansive Steam library that tempted me—it was the seamless experience that EmuDeck and EmulationStation offered for older games. And with that extra horsepower, which added the ability to emulate my PlayStation 2 and Nintendo GameCube titles, I was sold.
When it arrived, I dedicated several happy afternoons to yet another round of software installations, SD card organisation, and fine-tuning. Unfortunately, my Steam Deck journey was marred by hardware issues, including sticky face buttons and a screen that began lifting almost immediately. Despite Valve’s five-star repair service, the appeal was gone. I gave the Steam Deck – to my brother-in-law, funnily enough – who was more than happy to provide it with the TLC it deserved.
And how many retro games did I play on it? Again, I dabbled here and there, but the dream of completing Chrono Trigger remained a dream.
My next acquisition was the Retroid Pocket 4 Pro, a pocket-sized Android-based device also capable of running The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker or God of War II. Its diminutive form factor made it an easy choice for playing the classics on the go.
Predictably, my initial days with the system mirrored my past experiences. I spent a happy afternoon with software installations, SD card configurations, and customisation, and I got it working flawlessly for the games and platforms I most cared about. However, instead of embarking on epic quests through some old classics, the Retroid Pocket 4 became my “bedtime buddy,” primarily used for remote-playing Xbox games from the snuggly embrace of a 12 tog duvet. Chrono Trigger, once again, remained untouched.
Reflecting on a year of tinkering, I see a clear pattern. Each new device promises to be the “ULTIMATE RETRO GAMING EXPERIENCE”. Each purchase leads me down a rabbit hole of setup, tinkering, and configuration. But, each time, my actual engagement with these old games dwindles to a few fleeting test runs.
This endless cycle of preparing rather than playing seems baked into the retro handheld industry’s business model. Companies like Anbernic and Retroid don’t sell games; they sell potential. Incremental hardware upgrades are their currency, enticing us to chase emulation perfection rather than experience the joy of simply playing.
I’ve started to wonder: do I really want to play retro games, or is it the process of owning and customizing these devices that I find most fulfilling? The tinkering itself can be oddly satisfying. It’s a kind of technical busywork that scratches a very specific itch. Interestingly, the only retro games I played to completion last year – The Legend of Zelda: The Minish Cap and Donkey Kong Country – were through Nintendo Switch Online. Their accessibility, ease of use, and the Switch’s seamless integration with my TV removed all barriers. Despite the cost of the subscription, it was effortless and free of distraction.
This speaks to a larger issue in the gaming industry: a horribly inconsistent approach to preserving its heritage. Official solutions like Nintendo Switch Online are fine but will always be incomplete and will one day go offline. It’s no wonder that emulation, and an avalanche of emulation-friendly devices, have emerged to fill the void for players who want to preserve the games of the past. And we should be thankful they have, even if the technology sometimes gets in the way of playing the games.
As I write this, I find myself looking at the Ayn Odin Portal. Its OLED screen and larger form factor make it perfect for revisiting games from the Nintendo DS. Or maybe I’ll pick up the GKD Pixel 2, which is so small it can attach to a keychain. The Retroid Pocket 5 also seems like a nice upgrade. Will this time be different? Could one of these devices finally help me finish Chrono Trigger?
Maybe. But my own retro history suggests otherwise.
